


Walker of the Lonely Path

by Sheeana



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multi, Reunions, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26202553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheeana/pseuds/Sheeana
Summary: The drawn bow, for Andruil. An arrow ready to be loosed.Lyna Mahariel chose her path and never wavered. Merrill had always been just one step behind.
Relationships: Female Mahariel/Merrill/Tamlen (Dragon Age)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 6
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	1. Way of the Arrow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoaxionUnlimited](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoaxionUnlimited/gifts).



> This story takes some liberties with the canon timeline and dialogue in both DAO and DA2.

**_fly straight and do not waver_**

Merrill squinted at the neat lines of text in the book she was reading. In the dappled sunlight shining through the trees, the words seemed alive, undulating on the page like serpents. She frowned, leaning in closer.

The sudden feeling of something in her hair caused her to yelp, pitching forward on the log she'd been perched on. She caught herself on the edge of it, feeling the rough bark digging into her palms and fingertips.

"Lyna," she said, laughing as she realized. Lyna's fingers mussed her hair, leaving it messy and tangled. She squirmed from the ticklishness. The book in her lap slid forward and fell into the mud, quite unceremoniously, and her eyes widened. "Now look what you've done! It's all wet and muddy. Keeper Marethari will be so cross with me if I bring it back like this."

"What's the use in spending all your time with your nose in old books, anyhow?" Tamlen asked. He was leaning against a gnarled old oak tree nearby, arms folded across his chest. "You should come hunting with us."

"I shouldn't go anywhere," Merrill said. "The Keeper says I'm to finish reading this book before nightfall tomorrow, and then she'll have another ready for me in the morning."

"You can't come hunting and read it later?"

"It's a very long book, Tamlen."

"Well, could you just pretend you read it, then?"

"Not if the Keeper asks me questions about it. She could ask me how many kinds of elfroot there are, the best place to look for them, or which kinds can be used to ease which illnesses. How would I know if I don't actually read it?"

"Oh, come on, Tamlen. We should be going. Merrill needs peace and quiet for her _reading_ ," Lyna teased, laughing.

"Okay, then I have another idea," said Tamlen. "Couldn't you just come with us and tell the Keeper you were studying elfroot in person? Hands-on experience is always better than reading it from a book, isn't it?"

"Well..." Merrill looked down at the soggy, muddy book, fretting. "Yes, I suppose I could, but only if you help me clean this up. And we actually find some elfroot, and bring it back to the clan. We're running low, actually. The Keeper might not mind, then."

The truth was that Marethari would be disappointed with Merrill neglecting her studies in favor of frolicking through the woods yet again, but she had so few chances to spend time with Lyna and Tamlen anymore. Now that they were hunters, they spent their days in the forests their clan passed through, while Merrill toiled away in camp, learning about spells and herbs and bits of old elven lore. She yearned for _more_ : adventures in the ruins of their ancestors, ancient elven relics to be uncovered and restored, friends to laugh with around the fire.

Delving through ruins wasn't a Keeper's job, Marethari would have told her, gently scolding. A Keeper's job was to _preserve_ , not to discover. To guide without straying too far from the safest path.

That might have been unfair. There were days when Merrill didn't care very much at all. She hoped she wasn't scowling. It always made her face ache, scowling.

"We thought we'd follow the river," Lyna said. "There was good hunting that direction the last time we passed this way."

"And we can go swimming," added Tamlen.

"And we can go swimming," Lyna said, grinning.

"But I haven't brought any other clothes," said Merrill. She looked down at her recently-cleaned robes.

"You can just take off your outer robes. Everything else will dry in this heat long before we get back to camp, won't it?" said Lyna.

"That's true. It would be nice to cool down, anyway. It's so sticky today."

"Then what's the problem?" Tamlen asked. "Come on, let's go. We're wasting daylight." 

He held out his hand for Merrill to take. She considered a moment longer, then reached out and let him tug her to her feet from the log. She crouched down to gather up her now-soggy book, wiping the muck off as best she could with her arm, which only left her arm dirty instead. It was a good thing they'd be going swimming, she reflected, as she carefully slipped the book into her pack and slung it over her shoulder. If she cleaned it off a little better and left it to dry in the sun, it _might_ not look like she'd dropped it in the mud. It was already faded, torn, and a little warped. A bit more wear would just add character.

"How was Master Ilen this morning, Tamlen?" Merrill asked, as she fell into step between the two of them. "He sounded very cross about something."

"Ah, let's not talk about that," said Tamlen, laughing nervously.

"Yes, let's not talk about that. It might bruise Tamlen's fragile pride." Lyna was grinning wickedly as she elbowed him in the side, knocking him slightly off-balance.

Tamlen righted himself, scowling. "It was an accident!"

"That was what you told Master Ilen, at least."

"It's the truth. I slipped and happened to fall on the bow, and it snapped."

"And this had nothing to do with how you fell off the top of Hahren Paivel's aravel, right?"

"Nothing at all," said Tamlen breezily. 

Merrill started laughing at the expression on Tamlen's face, Lyna joining her once she'd gotten a look at it. He joined them, too, a moment later. 

It was a good day. The sun was shining overhead, if perhaps a bit too brightly and _warmly_ for Merrill's liking. She was still chuckling faintly as the trees around them abruptly came to an end, and they came upon a road. It was well-worn but fallen into disuse and disrepair, weeds and flowers creeping back in along the edges.

"We should keep away from the road, shouldn't we?" Merrill asked, a little uneasy as they stepped out from the protection of the trees and onto the open ground.

"Why? No one but us usually dares to come into this part of the Brecilian Forest," said Tamlen.

"Yes, but the Keeper says we're getting a bit close to a shemlen town, now, so we should be careful," Merrill said.

"We can handle a few shems, can't we, lethallan?" Tamlen nudged Lyna in the side.

"Maybe _I_ can, but I don't know about you, Tamlen," she replied, smirking. "Didn't you miss that rabbit yesterday? I could have sworn we had it, but there it was, escaping into the bushes right before our eyes..."

"It was the wind," Tamlen said. He scowled again.

"It was the wind yesterday, but what about last week? It was a windless day when that boar got away-"

"Quiet, you, or I'll tell Merrill about the time you fell into that pond when a leaf fell on your head and startled you-"

"You wouldn't dare."

Merrill started to laugh again, covering her mouth with her hands. They were past the road now, back on one of the much narrower animal trails their people often used to find their way. She was still laughing when Tamlen's foot got caught in a root and he stumbled. He would have fallen face-first into the dirt if not for Lyna catching his arm and righting him. When he whirled to face her, he was glaring, but it swiftly gave way to a chagrined smile. Then they were all laughing together – at least until Tamlen abruptly took off running.

"Last one to the river gets pushed in!" he called out behind him. 

"Oh, that's not fair," Merrill complained, but she was already laughing and running after them both. It was a hot day; being shoved headfirst into the river actually sounded pleasant.

Lyna was always graceful and swift on her feet, and Tamlen was nearly as nimble, but Merrill tripped a few times as she ran after them. Just before they reached the crest of the hill that led down to the river, Lyna snagged Tamlen's arm and caught him up. It was Merrill who reached the water first, splashing into the shallows up to her ankles as Lyna and Tamlen tusselled behind her. She was bent over and breathing hard when Lyna joined her. There was a wicked grin on Lyna's face.

"That... wasn't... fair," Tamlen accused, as he came lumbering after them, out of breath and glaring. He reached the edge of the water and stopped, eyeing it with reluctant disdain. Despite the heat and the sun overhead, the water was cold as it ran around Merrill's legs. 

True to Tamlen's word, Lyna laughed as she retraced her steps to the shore. She stepped back up onto the riverbank and, without any warning or announcement, pushed him bodily over and into the cool water. When he fell in, he splashed Merrill where she still stood, ankle-deep. He surfaced spluttering from beneath the deeper water.

Briefly, he looked as though he might retaliate. Merrill and Lyna both froze, waiting to be splashed or dragged down with him. Then he just grinned. They all started to laugh. For a moment, Merrill felt like nothing at all had changed. They might as well have been bare-faced and carefree again, unaware of the unforgiving and hostile world their people faced every day. There had been a time when it was only the three of them, and nothing else had mattered.

It could never have lasted. Not when Merrill was First, and her magic set her aside from the rest of the clan. It had been like a nice dream, though, for as long as she'd been allowed to dream it.

Tamlen had emerged again to stand waist-deep in the water, and was looking down at himself sheepishly. He was soaked from head to toe.

"Oh, don't make that face," said Lyna, "Your clothes will dry. Come on, Merrill, let's join him."

They undressed to their underclothes and left everything else beneath a broad willow tree hanging out over the water. Merrill carefully arranged her book in a patch of sunlight, so that it had some chance of drying before they returned to camp that evening.

She gulped before she plunged into the water. It was cold enough to take her breath away. She was shivering when she resurfaced. Tamlen was already paddling toward her, grinning as Lyna followed after Merrill. He disappeared again a moment later, ducking back underwater.

"So?" said Tamlen. He'd come up beside Merrill, treading water in the deepest part of the river. "Are you glad you decided to come with us instead of spending the whole day reading that book, yet?"

"You know I'd always rather spend the day with you."

He pressed his hands over his heart. "Did you hear that, Lyna? We're _special_ to her."

"Are you sure she was talking about you, too, Tamlen, or just me?" Lyna called back.

"That wounds me, lethallan!"

They swam across the small river and back again, and then let the rapids carry them downriver to an area where the river widened and there was a narrow, sandy beach along one bank. Tamlen looped his arm around Merrill's waist and dragged her underwater a few times; Lyna did the same to him. Merrill laughed more than she had in a while, and forgot her usual worries and frustrations.

Afterward, they lay on the riverbank with their feet in the water as the sun began to descend. The sky above the river was clear enough of tree branches that they could see the clouds. They watched together as they drifted past.

"I think that one looks like a halla," Merrill said, after a long bout of silence broken only by the sound of the river rushing past and the birds flitting and chirping overhead.

"Which one?" said Tamlen.

"That one, right there. Don't you see it?"

"I think I do," Lyna said. "The horns are there, and that's the-"

"You know what I think it looks like?" Tamlen said slyly. "I think it looks like a really big-"

"Shh, you'll ruin it," Lyna said. Merrill felt the way she elbowed Tamlen yet again – hard – because he flinched back into Lyna and caused her to bump into Merrill. She smiled as Lyna settled back into place. A moment later, Lyna's hand brushed against hers. Their fingers became lightly entangled. 

If only they could have stayed there forever – just the three of them, under the sky, and a golden afternoon that never ended.

\---

"Here, I brought you some stew." Lyna was already lowering herself down to sit cross-legged beside Merrill on the blanket spread over the ground in front of Merrill's tent.

The sun had nearly set, a cool evening breeze already blowing in. Insects sang out in the trees around them. The clan was beginning to settle in for the night. Merrill's hair was nearly dry again from their dip in the river, though her clothes had been slower to follow. Marethari, thankfully, hadn't commented on the slightly-more-damaged book that Merrill had handed back to her, but had seemed pleased enough with the armful of elfroot they'd collected on their way back to camp.

"Thank you," said Merrill, accepting the bowl Lyna had offered her. "Where's Tamlen?"

"He's helping Master Ilen tonight, for some reason. Who could say why?"

Merrill winced in sympathy for him and lifted the wooden spoon to her lips. The stew was hot, fresh from the fire, and she winced again as it burned her tongue. 

"Impatient," Lyna teased fondly.

"The Keeper says so, too."

"I couldn't imagine why."

"I just wish we could do more to recover our history, that's all. There are so many secrets buried in ruins or hidden away in books. We could learn so much if we would just _look_ ," Merrill said, wistful.

"I think we're too busy just surviving in a world intent on destroying us to go hunting through dangerous ruins or sneaking into shemlen cities to steal back our books."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't try."

"I guess not. Can it wait until after dinner, though?"

Gingerly, Merrill tried a second spoonful of stew. It was slightly cooler now, at least. Enough that she could actually taste it – the sweet roots and venison along with the savory herbs their newest addition had been out gathering with Junar earlier that week. Pol was a strange one. A city elf who knew nothing of being Dalish. He would barely even speak to Merrill. He was probably only nervous about her magic, but it still stung a little bit.

"So? How is it?" Lyna prodded her gently in the knee.

"It's very nice. Much better than last week," Merrill replied, or tried to, around a mouthful of it.

"That's probably because Tamlen and I were helping with the cooking last week," Lyna said sheepishly.

"Oh, really? Well, it wasn't all that bad," Merrill tried to assure her. "It was actually quite..."

"Gritty?" Lyna said, raising her eyebrows.

"I was going to say 'nutritious'."

"Everyone has their skills."

Lyna leaned over to bump her shoulder against Merrill's and they both laughed, but then they fell quiet as they ate. Merrill watched the comings and goings of the camp - hunters returning from the forest, Hahren Paivel surrounded by a group of older children all engrossed in a tale he was telling, a young couple eating together in front of their newly-quilted tent. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. It faded, slightly, when a thought occurred to her. 

"Lyna," she said, glancing over at her, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can."

"You and Tamlen, are you-?" She couldn't quite find the words to finish the sentence, but she thought it was clear enough. Everyone knew that Lyna and Tamlen were inseparable. Everyone thought it was only a matter of time.

"Are we... Dalish?" Lyna said. She smirked. "Are we hunters? Are we secretly giant bears in disguise?"

" _Are_ you secretly giant bears in disguise? That would be exciting," Merrill said. Then she looked down at the half-empty bowl she was cradling in her lap with both of her hands. "Never mind. It's just, the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him... well, it's very sweet. Like you're the only things in the world that matter to each other." 

"Don't worry, Merrill." Lyna touched her wrist, and Merrill looked up at her. "Remember what we promised you when we were little? We'll never go anywhere you can't follow."

Without further comment, Lyna leaned over and pressed her lips to Merrill's cheek. 

Merrill's eyes widened. She blinked rapidly a few times. She dropped her gaze back down to her stew as Lyna pulled away.

Lyna Mahariel was beautiful and wild and free and Merrill had loved her, _helplessly_ , for as long as she could remember. Tamlen had always been Lyna's shadow, following her everywhere, just as bold and twice as likely to be told off for his antics. And Merrill had loved him, too, just as helplessly, since the first day he and Lyna peeked into the tent to get a look at their new Keeper's apprentice, while she hid and fretted and missed her former clan.

She remembered what Lyna was talking about. Those first months had been hard. Everyone had seemed so strange, and she had felt so alone. It had sometimes seemed more like a curse than a gift, having magic. But Lyna and Tamlen had stubbornly persisted in befriending her, and soon enough they'd all been wreaking havoc together whenever Merrill could get away from her studies long enough.

One day, when the clan was passing through the southern reaches of the Brecilian Forest, Tamlen had found a massive, ancient tree, twisted around itself and stretching far upward into the sky. He'd brought Lyna and Merrill to the foot of it and declared they were going to climb all the way to the very top. But Merrill had only made it up to the first low-lying branch before she'd glanced down and begun to tremble, and then she'd refused to move any further at all – up or down.

'Don't worry,' Lyna had coaxed, holding out her hand. 'We won't go anywhere you can't follow. Here, we'll help you.'

And they had. Each and every step of the way, they'd helped her. Tamlen had hopped back down to the branch where Merrill was clinging to the tree, and wrapped an arm around her waist to guide her. He'd hauled her up to Lyna, and they'd climbed up as far as they could go together, never letting her go, not even for a second. They hadn't made it anywhere near the top, but it hadn't mattered.

Since then Merrill had always been one step behind them, stumbling where they were sure-footed, eagerly hanging on to their every word. While they trained as hunters, she pored over books. While they strung bows and sharpened blades, she practiced spells and learned about herbs and poultices. They ranged further and further away, but they never failed to come back for her.

She reached up and touched her cheek.

"I think I'm going to go check on Tamlen. We'll see you tomorrow? Same time, same place?" Lyna said, already hopping to her feet, her bowl empty. So casually, like she hadn't just _kissed_ Merrill.

"I'll never get any studying done if you keep dragging me away with you," Merrill lamented, but she was smiling. She kept smiling long after Lyna had disappeared amid the tents and aravels. She kept smiling as she washed her bowl and spoon, as she changed into softer clothing for bed, as she pulled the flaps of her tent shut behind her. She was still smiling when she crawled into her bedroll and pulled the furs up over her chin, remembering the lingering warmth of Lyna's lips on her cheek.

\---

Two days.

It had been two days since the tall, stern shemlen had half-dragged Lyna back to camp, barely conscious and dangerously feverish, and without Tamlen in tow. Two days since the clan's peace had been shattered, since everything had stopped making sense, since Merrill had slept at all, even for a few minutes. How could she, when everything had gone so wrong? When Lyna might never open her eyes again? When Tamlen might never come back? When their clan was in danger?

They'd been the longest two days of Merrill's life. Longer than the hours she'd spent enduring pain in silence for her vallaslin. Longer even than the first days she'd spent afraid and alone in an unfamiliar clan. Every moment had been agonizing, waiting for Lyna to awaken, waiting in vain for the hunters to return with news of Tamlen.

Marethari had managed to keep Lyna alive, if only barely. Merrill had kept her supplied with herbs and poultices, and when she ran dangerously low on energy, one of the clan's precious few lyrium potions. Even so, it had been a close thing.

It had all happened so fast. Why hadn't she gone with them that morning? Why had she chosen that day, of all days, to be obedient? To do what the Keeper wanted and stay back in the camp and read her books? She could have helped if she'd gone with them. She knew she could have.

And now the clan was getting ready to leave to avoid drawing the ire of the humans, and Lyna had only just woken from her seemingly impenetrable slumber. And Tamlen was still nowhere to be found, and Merrill wanted to scream at each second that passed while they didn't all march out into the forest to find the ruins the shemlen had described and _look for him_.

"... and we'll need to gather enough food for the journey, and supplies to barter for passage across the Waking Sea. Make sure the hunters leave as soon as possible," Marethari was telling Ilen. Merrill was meant to be listening. Learning. Helping. Abruptly she realized she couldn't take another moment of it, and she turned and walked blindly away. She heard Marethari calling after her as she went. In her haste, she nearly tripped over the statue of Fen'harel – a bad omen – but she kept going until she was at the very outer edges of the camp. 

Once she was – relatively speaking in any Dalish camp – alone, she leaned against an aravel, lowered her face into her hands and scrubbed wearily at her eyes. She was so tired. All she wanted was to go to sleep. She would wake up and find out this had all been a terrible nightmare brought on by eating the wrong kind of berries. Tamlen would tease her about it, and then they would all go swimming together again like nothing had happened at all.

Her eyes burned, but no tears fell. None had yet. Maybe she would cry later, when they were far away from here and the reality finally set in. Maybe she never would. Maybe she'd forgotten how.

She didn't know how long she stayed there. Half an hour, maybe. It felt like an eternity. She slid her fingers back into her hair and gripped it tightly a few times, tugging on it as if to bring some measure of clarity back to herself. It didn't work.

When she saw Lyna approaching her, she dropped her hands back to her sides. Blinking a few times cleared away the bleary exhaustion from her eyes. She could keep falling apart later; she had to be whatever Lyna needed her to be now.

\---

The forest was quiet, but it was anything but calm. All the birds and insects had gone silent. No small creatures scurried underfoot. The wind had all but died away. The trees had gone still. There was a faint scent hanging in the air – of decay, rot, and disease.

Fenarel had accompanied them, though Merrill wasn't entirely certain Lyna had been telling the _truth_ about Marethari allowing it.

Lyna moved as gracefully as ever along the forest paths. When the twisted creatures ambushed them, her aim was just as true as it had always been. But something was still wrong with her. Merrill could sense it somehow – the same darkness emanating from the forest all around them, from the evil things they had just killed. The same tainted decay. 

They stopped near a fresh campfire, where Lyna bent down to feel the lingering heat from the coals. Someone had been here recently – probably the shemlen, which meant they were on the right trail.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Merrill asked uncertainly, when Lyna stood up again.

"What do you mean?" Lyna seemed distracted. Merrill couldn't blame her.

"It's probably nothing, but you seem..." Merrill was sure her uncertainty showed on her face, try as she might to subdue it. She wondered if Lyna would be offended if she reached out to touch her skin, to see if she was as feverish as Merrill suspected. Eventually she settled on laying her hand on Lyna's arm, though she recoiled when she felt the heat emanating from it.

"I'm fine, Merrill. I don't feel anything," Lyna said, as gentle as she'd ever been. As gentle as her lips against Merrill's cheek, on a night that felt like it had happened in another lifetime. "We need to go. We have to find Tamlen."

Though her expression seemed ever tighter, Lyna would voice no complaint. Merrill remembered how silent and calm she had been, the day she had received her vallaslin. Not a single cry, not one peep of complaint. Her eyes set, her face blank.

The drawn bow, for Andruil. An arrow ready to be loosed. How Merrill had always wanted to reach out and trace the swooping curve of it across Lyna's temple. She did so now, abruptly and impulsively, stretching out her hand until her fingers brushed against Lyna's cheek. Her thumb ran along the line of her vallaslin.

"Be careful," Merrill pleaded, though she knew it would go unheeded. Lyna was so many things, but never careful. It wasn't in her nature.

"You know me," was all Lyna said, already pulling away and reaching for another arrow.

They fought their way through more of the tainted things, and then down into the dark, ancient ruins Lyna had uncovered with Tamlen. The halls were lined with statues, some of them recognizable as symbols of the Creators. Their people had once roamed these halls. Perhaps even carved them out of the rock. Oh, what wonderful and terrible things Merrill might have been able to learn here, if only she'd been there, if only there had been time, if only Tamlen hadn't touched the mirror, if only, if only, _if only_.

\---

Lyna was sick. Tamlen was sick. Tamlen was gone. That was what the shemlen had said. Duncan; what a strange name, so hard to pronounce. There was _nothing they could do_ for Tamlen. The words echoed in Merrill's ears, lingering after they had already been spoken. The sound of Duncan's blade striking the mirror rang out, too, over Lyna's protests. It had belonged to their people. A human had no right to destroy it, and without even giving them a chance to learn what it was, where it came from. What it had done to them.

Glancing over her shoulder after Lyna and Fenarel, Merrill bent down and picked up a small shard of the shattered mirror. She turned it over in her hands, examining the shimmery surface. _It is never wise to play with things you cannot understand, child,_ she could practically hear Marethari scolding, but it was the last connection she had to Tamlen. The only clue to what had befallen him. If she let it go, it would be as good as letting him go.

She slipped it into her pouch, and went to rejoin the others.

\---

There was sorrow in Lyna's eyes as she gripped Merrill's arm tightly, one last time, but Lyna didn't say anything.

There were so many things Merrill wanted to say. She wanted to beg Lyna not to go; she wanted to beg Lyna to tell her everything would be all right. She wanted to _scream_. She knew better, didn't she? Keepers didn't beg, or cry, or scream. Keepers did what was best for the clan. Even if it made them feel like their hearts were shattering into a thousand jagged pieces.

The worst part was that Lyna never hesitated. She smiled, slightly and sadly, as she released Merrill's arm. She looked over the rest of the clan and smiled at them, too. But she never paused, never looked like she might change her mind, never even said a single word.

Merrill watched her until she had ascended over the ridge and was gone. Gone forever. Gone somewhere Merrill could never follow.

The rest of the clan parted ways, returning to their duties. There was still much to be done before they could depart. No one had time for grief.

Merrill was left standing there, clutching her staff, adrift in her misery, and _alone_.


	2. Way of the Bow

**_bend, but never break_ **

The ship rocked and swayed in the waves. Merrill's knees buckled at every swell, until she stopped trying to stand up. Her stomach didn't much appreciate it, either, but a little elfroot was enough to stem the very worst of it. Stem the _tide_ , she thought queasily – what a strange saying, mixing plants and the ocean like that.

The sea crashed viciously and unrelentingly against the sides of the ship. There were so many new, frightening sounds, and _smells_ , and none of them pleasant – the sweat of so many people crammed in together in such a small, dark space, the anxious murmuring of a people not used to seafaring, rotting fish and seaweed, fresh water sloshing back and forth in the giant barrels on the other side of the hold.

The ship rolled to one side. Merrill let herself sway with it. It rolled to the other side. She swayed back. And back, and forth, and back, and forth, and back, and forth. Ceaselessly, in this dark, damp hold, where the only family she still had were all huddled together. The rest of the world might as well have disappeared. They might as well have been here forever. It certainly felt like she would never see the sun again.

But Lyna would have been having the time of her life, Merrill kept thinking. She would have loved to see the ocean. She and Tamlen would have snuck out of the hold and explored every corner of the ship. They would have climbed to the very tops of the sails together, balancing precariously on the wooden slats of the masts. At their coaxing, Merrill might even have climbed up with them, at least part of the way – though even the thought of trying to walk around or climb anywhere made her stomach turn again. 

She wondered if Lyna would ever see the ocean, now that she was a Grey Warden. 

Tamlen wouldn't.

She hugged her knees and closed her eyes. If she squeezed them shut tightly enough, she could almost forget where she was. For a moment or two, at least. Then the ship swung back down and slammed into the waves with a great crashing sound again, and the illusion was completely broken.

\---

It was a cool day on the high paths of Sundermount. The wind could be fierce, this high up, and it was always damp here, which only made it worse. She'd climbed and climbed and climbed until she couldn't go much higher. Now she was sitting cross-legged on a broad ledge overlooking the valley where the clan had set up their encampment. Weeks they'd been here, and it seemed they would be staying much longer, though the Keeper hadn't given much explanation as to why. All she'd told Merrill was that they were to wait for someone.

This new land was strange and foreign, its skies cloudy and overcast, its trees stunted and windswept, its animals moving to a different rhythm. The first few nights, the hunters had brought back nearly nothing to eat. The clan's soup had gotten thinner and thinner, until at last they had begun to pick up trails and learn where to set their traps.

Merrill spent her days studying, or wandering the paths of the mountain and gathering herbs. She avoided the others as much as she could. They were well-meaning. Mostly. It was just that she couldn't stand the looks in their eyes when she caught them glancing at her – the way they were so filled with pity and regret. Fenarel had tried speaking to her, even following her a few times, but neither of them had any real comfort to offer each other. He kept to himself, now, too. 

The only person who bothered with Merrill much anymore was Marethari, who only seemed more disappointed in her with each passing day. She'd been meant to be the guide to Clan Sabrae, their next Keeper. She tried to ignore the way they all whispered when they thought she wasn't listening. The way they doubted, wondering if she was even fit to lead the clan when she spent all her time alone, with her head in the clouds-

She sighed.

The wind was cold on her cheeks, leaving them flushed. When she looked out over the jagged mountains, they seemed calm. Peaceful. The dead of Sundermount slept in their graves today, if uneasily.

Yet somewhere across the sea, the Blight raged on. Shemlen travelers brought terrible stories about refugees being turned away from the cities, left to fend for themselves in this strange land. There were even worse stories about the devastation in Ferelden, dead kings and defeated armies. Civil war. Merrill shivered to think of it. All those people, with nowhere to go. 

The Keeper had told her it was the task of a Grey Warden, to end a Blight. Lyna's task, then, if she was still alive. She hadn't sent any word. She hadn't come home. 

Merrill's hand slipped into her pocket. Her fingers traced the now-smoothed edge of the mirror shard she'd taken from the ruins. She sensed a faint darkness emanating from it, sometimes, but today it was still and silent. 

"Be careful," she said softly. Her voice was lost on the wind. It didn't even matter. It would never reach Lyna's ears again, anyway.

The drawn bow, for Andruil. An arrow ready to be loosed. It would find its target. Whatever the cost.

\---

The news came to them through a shemlen, who happened to be passing through the mountains and stopped to trade with the clan's scouts. Idle gossip had carried far deeper, more personal meaning than the human merchant could possibly have known. By the time Merrill had returned from one of her many trips up Sundermount, the camp was already abuzz.

"What's going on?" she asked Pol, when she saw everyone gathered around one of the fire pits. "Why is everyone so excited?"

"Haven't you heard?" he said, eyebrows raised. "The Blight is over. Mahariel killed the archdemon. Can you believe that? One of _us_ , killing an archdemon. An elf! Someone from our clan!"

Merrill swallowed down the terribly unfair thing she wanted to say. Lyna wasn't _his_ , wasn't even the clan's, not anymore. Not when they'd let her go so easily. She tried to brighten, or at least look curious. "Really?" she said. "All by herself?"

"I don't think so. They said there was a terrible battle in Denerim. Mak-... Er, Creators, I'm glad I left when I did. I'm glad the clan left when it did, too. Can you imagine being in Ferelden with all the darkspawn? I heard the stories about darkspawn when I was growing up. They say they drag people away and eat them."

"It sounds dreadfully frightening," Merrill agreed, distracted.

"Do you think she'll come back, now that it's over? Mahariel, I mean."

Merrill couldn't even bring herself to answer that. All she could do was give him a bleak and blank look, and then ball her hands into fists at her side as she walked away. 

The rest of the clan kept chattering away, but she stayed at the outskirts of the camp. She wished they still had halla; it would have been nice to bury her face in their fur, right now. Lyna had always loved the halla.

She took out her shard and held it in her hands. Tamlen was gone. There was nothing that could be done for him. That was what the human had said, what the Keeper believed. But she wondered, sometimes, when she looked down at the tainted piece of the mirror. There was an ancient scroll in their clan's possession that named it an 'eluvian' and hinted at a place beyond its shimmering surface. That hinted at _other_ eluvians, maybe even some in the Free Marches.

She wondered, sometimes, what would happen if she could find one. Fix one. Use one. If they led to other places, couldn't Tamlen have gone there? And even if they didn't, what could their people learn, with something so ancient, so powerful? Couldn't it at least be worth something, losing him and Lyna? Why had they been so quick to destroy it and run away?

Everyone was so happy, in a way they hadn't been in so very long. They would have a feast in the evening, and a day of celebration to follow. For Lyna. Merrill thought she might spend the day elsewhere. She'd spotted a patch of spindleweed growing on the eastern slopes; the clan would need it sooner or later. Tomorrow was as good a time as any.

\---

There was a spirit in the statue that stood in the cave at the summit of Sundermount.

It was an accident when Merrill first discovered it. She'd been searching for a particularly rare kind of deep mushroom, but she hadn't meant to go beyond the mouth of the cavern. There were dark things deeper within; she could always sense the tension in the Veil when she came close to the yawning maw of it.

She'd stumbled over some loose rocks, though, and dropped her basket, and as she'd scrambled to gather all the mushrooms that had rolled further in, she looked up to find a pair of empty, dark eyes staring back down at her.

"Oh? Who are you, then?" she'd asked, but it hadn't answered. She'd felt its eyes on her the whole time though, watching her as she collected her things and peered around the cave. Its gaze had followed her out. It had probably followed her even further than that, in dreams where it hid among its brethren and spied on her from the Fade.

\---

Marethari found her with the eluvian fragment one evening, halfway up the path to the graveyard. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed, Merrill suspected, but it was the first time she'd deigned to say anything about it.

"You must let this go, Merrill," she said, very gently, from behind where Merrill was cradling the shard in her hands.

Startled, Merrill glanced up. The shard slipped from her hands. She scrambled to gather it back up before Marethari saw it, but with a sinking feeling she realized it was already too late. Nevertheless, she tucked it back into a pouch strapped to her belt.

"I'm not doing anything," she said. "I'm only studying magic. That's what you wanted me to do, isn't it?" It was wrong; her voice was too sharp. Since when had she ever spoken like that, to anyone? She hadn't ever wanted to, when Lyna and Tamlen had been with her. And then, suddenly, a _terrible_ anger came over her, and she kept speaking, against all her better judgment. "Don't you even care what happened to them?"

"There are magics that should not be used. Things that should not be disturbed," Marethari said, sighing. "Not all knowledge is worth knowing, da'len. Come now." She set her hand on Merrill's back, trying to guide her. "Let us return to the camp."

"You're just going to _give up_?"

"There is nothing of Tamlen left, Merrill. That mirror was tainted with the same darkness that runs in darkspawn blood. It would have destroyed him completely. There is nothing we can do to change the past."

"Even if that's true, shouldn't we try to understand it? It's our history. It's all we have. We can't just leave it behind and pretend it never happened. How else will we ever get anything back?"

Marethari sighed once again. "Very well. I will leave you to your thoughts for now. But know that you will never be alone, child. When you are ready to speak, I will be ready to listen."

Merrill exhaled slowly as Marethari walked away. She stayed where she was a long while after that, in the quiet where no one could whisper anything about her. No one could tell her she was being foolish or childish or that it was time to _let go_. 

When she got up, she was steady on her feet. She gripped her staff with purpose. She followed the path upward. Blindly, unthinkingly.

She found herself in the cave at the very top of the mountain again. No one else would come in here. She wasn't sure anyone else even could. There was a barrier over the entrance that only those with magic could pass through unhindered. 

Beneath the statue, she sat down on the cold stone. She pulled out the eluvian shard and turned it over and over and over again in her hands. She thought she knew where to find another mirror. There were so many ancient elven ruins, on and in and around Sundermount. So many places the humans and dwarves might never have thought to look over the many centuries since the fall of Arlathan.

But even if she found one – then what? The shard was tainted. It would take immense power to cleanse it. Even if she could, to find a way to _activate_ it again – to harness and use its magic – would be no small task.

The spirit was watching her again. Its eyes were like an eclipse, the moon passing over the sun. A shadow falling over her. She was well used to the sensation, having wandered the Fade many times in dreams. 

_I can help you, you know,_ it said. So conversational it was nearly jovial. Spirits often tricked mortals with pleasantries and politeness. It was something of a game to them. Merrill knew better than to play, but that didn't mean that she had to be rude about it.

"No, thank you," she said. "That's all right. I'm going to figure it out on my own."

_Are you quite certain? There are many paths to walk. Not all of them lead where you might want them to go. I can show you the way._

"Yes, I'm certain. But I appreciate the offer."

 _Very well,_ it replied, and said nothing more.

She left. That day. But she kept going back, over and over, to sit on the ground and peer up at the statue, considering. Not whether to trust it – that would obviously be stupid – but whether it might actually have something she could use. The Keeper was wrong. Knowledge could come from anywhere. It was no less useful because its source was untrustworthy.

\---

Tainted things could be cleansed. Broken things could be restored. She was sure of it, more than she'd ever been sure of anything. But her magic wasn't strong enough. She'd reached as deep into herself as she could go, and still she hadn't been able to chase away all of the darkness in the shard of eluvian. It was like a thin layer of oily poison. She could safely dip beneath it, very delicately, but she couldn't quite pull it _away_. Not with her mana alone.

There were other ways to tap into the Fade. Every Dalish First knew it. Every mage everywhere must know it. It thrummed through all their veins. It wasn't so hard to see what it could do.

It was the spirit who had given her the idea. Bound in _blood_ , it had whispered to her, one day while she studied the mirror under its watchful gaze. Knowingly, of course. Coaxing her toward its own ends. She'd spent more than enough time around spirits to know it for exactly what it was – self-serving, ever-changing to suit its needs.

It could suit her needs, too, if she was careful.

She gripped her knife tightly in her hand, her arm held out in front of her. As she lowered the sharp edge to her skin, she cringed, nearly closing her eyes against the sight of it.

"Merrill!" Marethari's voice was like thunder behind her. She thought she'd chosen a secluded enough spot, but Marethari had always seemed to know things no one else did or could.

There was a time in her life when she would have flinched. Cringed away, apologized, begged for forgiveness. She did lower her knife and stand up, turning to face Marethari, but it was not an act of contrition.

"You must not do this," Marethari pleaded. Her voice had softened, now that she had Merrill's attention. "This path is not one that any should ever choose to walk. Please, come back to the camp and let us put this behind us."

"No, I don't think so."

"Da'len-"

"I'm not a child!" Merrill had closed her hands into fists now, at her sides. She was aware of the image it projected, the seeming contradiction between her posture and her words, and could do nothing at all about it. "I've had my vallaslin for years! I know what I'm doing. I know that spirits are dangerous, and I know how to protect myself."

"I know that is what you believe in your heart, Merrill, but these are dangerous powers. They are far more dangerous than you know. This is not what Tamlen or Lyna would have wished for you, had they-"

"I'm not changing my mind," Merrill said. She didn't shout anymore. Part of her wanted to, very much, but it wouldn't help. She walked away instead, before Marethari could say another word.

She'd never done that before. Walked away. She'd argued, sometimes, a little bit. She'd failed to complete tasks assigned to her. She'd disappointed. She'd never _disobeyed_. Not so directly, not so intentionally.

The wind was bitingly cold and strong that day, but she barely felt it as she climbed and climbed and climbed. Ever higher, _away_ from the clan, as far as she could go on her own two feet. She found herself in the cave again. The barrier parted before her as if it knew her intent. 

She looked up at the statue, into its shadowed, empty eyes. She could feel them staring back at her. Across the Veil, it was watching her. Waiting to see what she would do.

She looked down at the bare expanse of her palm, held up in front of her.

She lifted her knife. She drew it across. The blood rolled down as she closed her fingers in around it.

The drawn bow, for Andruil. An unwavering arrow. This was the path that she chose, whatever the cost.

\---

She didn't hesitate when she walked away from them. She didn't cry, or beg, or shout, and neither did they. She didn't say a single word. She never looked back.

\---

Kirkwall was cold in the winter, and often far damper than Sundermount, without the fierce winds to chase it away. It clung to all her clothes until she couldn't get warm at all. Even inside her home Merrill found herself shivering and bundling herself in every layer she had. She huddled near the fire and sipped at clay mugs of tea or a sweet, spicy drink Hawke had given her, the last time he'd visited. Human food and drink was so very different from what she was used to. More than three years she'd been here, and more than three years she'd continued to be surprised by how people lived in the city – humans and elves alike.

Today, though, she wasn't staying close to the fire. She was in a colder corner of her house, wearing thick wool socks – another human custom – and gripping the arulin'holm she and Hawke had retrieved from her clan. He'd passed it on to her, against the Keeper's protests. He was the first person who'd _trusted_ her since Lyna had gone.

The surface of her broken eluvian was always still, but sometimes Merrill thought she could see shapes, moving somewhere in its cracked, clouded depths. They seemed to sharpen whenever she ran her magic through the frame of the mirror, but never quite to the point of clarity. 

"Admiring yourself?" came a voice from behind her. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

"Oh, Hawke. You're here," she said, her heart startled into beating faster, though it was already slowing down as soon as she realized who it was. "I didn't hear you come in. That's all right; I like it when you visit."

"And I like visiting. Another long day spent staring at this broken mirror, I see. Don't you have more exciting things to do? A visit to Hightown? A stroll through the docks? I hear they're quite lovely this time of year. Can barely even smell the rotting fish."

"It's not so bad, when you get used to it."

"No, I suppose not. It's better than Darktown, at least, though that's not saying much. Mind if I sit down?"

Merrill looked up as Hawke came over to crouch beside her in front of the mirror. She'd told him about it, if not quite everything. Not the most important thing, even, not completely. Every time she tried, her tongue seemed to get stuck in her mouth.

Hawke, however, had no such problem with his tongue, here or anywhere else. He watched her for a moment. "Merrill," he said finally, reaching out to lay his broad hand over hers, completely encompassing her slender fingers, "Could you tell me why this is so important to you?"

She knelt there, hands folded in her lap beneath Hawke's, staring down. She struggled to find the words to explain. He was always so gentle when he pushed her. He wouldn't press for more unless she offered it.

"There was someone I..." She hesitated. It was too late, now. But maybe it was still worth saying, even if they would never hear it. "Someone I loved, back in my clan. Two people, actually. Their names were Lyna and Tamlen, and I... I loved them."

"You mentioned Tamlen before, when you first told me about the mirror."

"They're both gone now. They found a mirror just like this one, and it took them both away from me." Her eyes pricked, but no tears fell. "Is it so wrong that I want it to give something back?"

"You told me how it took Tamlen away. Is Lyna who I think she is?"

"Lyna Mahariel. She became a Grey Warden. The Hero of Ferelden, they call her now. But she was part of our clan first. She was my friend first."

"I didn't realize you were so close with her."

"They say she ended the Blight in Ferelden." Merrill was still looking down at her lap, at her hands folded there so neatly. "I could have helped, if I'd stayed. A little bit, at least, I'm sure."

"And missed out on all the fun we've had together?"

"Oh, no, I didn't mean anything like that," she said, frantically looking up at him. "I don't regret meeting you. Did I make it sound like I regret meeting you? You've all been so kind, looking after me. I don't know what I would've done without Varric. And you. Especially you. And everyone else, too."

"It's all right, Merrill. I've heard worse, I assure you."

"Am I being awkward again? Could we talk about something else, please?" Her voice was tinged with the slight edge of desperation now.

Hawke raised his eyebrows at her. "Like what? The weather? It's been dreadful. The Lowtown crime rate?" 

"It's a bit disappointing, actually. No one's been mugged outside my door in weeks."

"Perish the thought. You know what, Varric and I are headed to the Wounded Coast tomorrow, if you'd like to come."

"Why? Is someone in trouble again?"

"No, not exactly. I thought we could all use some fresh air. That and there are some particularly vexing bandits hanging about that someone is paying quite handsomely to be rid of. What do you say?"

"Of course I'll come. You're my friends," she said fondly. She looked up at the eluvian. "The mirror's waited a few centuries at least. It can wait another day or two."

\---

Three more years she stayed in Kirkwall. Three more years, the clan didn't send for her. Didn't want her back. In the earliest days of her exile, some part of her had always thought they would, eventually. That they would eventually see reason, if not ever truly accept her for what she was. They were her clan; how could they abandon her?

They hadn't sent for her. They wouldn't. Maybe they couldn't, not even if she succeeded. They were so set in their ways, and so was she. Some paths diverged and never met up again. She should have known that better than anyone.

\---

She was sitting on the floor in the middle of her house.

She hadn't moved in a while. An hour, maybe two. Or more – she couldn't quite remember. Hawke had been by, earlier. Varric, too, and Isabela. They'd all had kind words for her, though she couldn't remember exactly what they'd said. It was Marethari's voice she kept hearing, replaying over and over and over again. As if she could change it, somehow, if she just thought about it long enough.

The tears had stopped, eventually. She could even breathe normally again, mostly.

It was over. They were gone. They'd blamed it all on her and left, without even hesitating. With no regret. 

She was alone.

She knelt there for a moment longer, and then stood, dusting off her knees. She couldn't spend the rest of her life sitting on the floor and feeling sorry for herself; she had no more time to fall apart. Hawke would still need her help. There was still the alienage that needed tending. There was still so much that she could do, for anyone who was willing to accept it.


	3. Way of the Wood

**_together we are stronger than the one_ **

The canopy of the vhenadahl was lush and full in mid-summer. The leaves spread out over the alienage square, providing relief from the relentless Lowtown heat, and a shock of bright greenery amid all the unforgiving yellow stone. It had been damaged in the chaos of the war between the mages and the templars. With careful attention – and a little bit of magic, from a few of the alienage's residents inclined to such talents – it had all but grown back now, even stronger than before.

Merrill was growing her hair out, too. The ends touched her shoulders, now, when she let it fall free. But it was so bothersome when it got in the way; usually it was easier to tie it back from her face.

She leaned against her staff and looked out over the alienage square. Children were playing beneath the vhenadahl, rushing to and fro and shrieking with glee. She smiled to herself, recalling summer days spent scrambling through the woods with her friends, swimming in ice-cold streams and climbing the tallest, most precarious trees. They were long gone, but she still remembered. It was a Keeper's job, to remember.

A pair of laughing children ran past her, nearly knocking her off her feet. She caught herself on her staff - an ancient gnarled wooden thing with a magical totem tied to the top. It certainly wouldn't have passed for a walking stick. 

It had never worried her, much, that the templars might find and catch her, back when it had been a real concern. She'd been so naive when she first came to Kirkwall. She hadn't really stopped to wonder why no one had ever come knocking on her door, not even when she'd been so obliviously obvious about being a mage, wandering around Lowtown talking about ancient elven magic and brandishing a Dalish staff. She'd lost so much, but she had so much left to be thankful for. To the People of the alienage, as much as her friends.

It didn't worry her that anyone would catch her now, either. The Chantry didn't conduct raids on the alienage anymore. Healers weren't hidden away in foxholes and gloomy undercity caverns. They practiced their arts openly. A mage had set up shop just across the way from Merrill's house, a bright and colourful sign hanging over her doorway advertising potions and ailments for the ill and injured.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't even fair, not really, but she'd learned to live with that a long time ago.

Somewhere very far away, Lyna was still fighting darkspawn, or whatever it was that Grey Wardens did when there wasn't a Blight. Merrill liked to think she was happy, wherever she was. Still saving the world. Maybe, every once in a while, thinking of her friends. Even if she would never see them again.

There was still a faint smile tugging at her lips when she set off for the Lowtown market.

\---

"I hope we don't all suffocate in this heat."

"Isn't it any better in Hightown, with the wind?" Merrill asked Hawke. He was lounging in the chair across from her at her table, his limbs all splayed out, his hair and clothes sweat-dampened. Summer had nearly come and gone, but the heat had lingered over the city, pressing in and down amid the Lowtown streets.

"Not today," he replied. "I thought I'd woken up inside a firepit, and that was before the sun had even risen."

"At least the vhenadahl keeps the alienage a little cooler than the rest of the city."

"Small mercies." He flopped his head back dramatically against the back of the chair. 

"It will be winter soon enough, and then we'll all be complaining about the cold and the damp, instead," she said, laughing. "If you're still here, at least. How long will you be in Kirkwall?"

"Oh, I don't know. Varric wanted my help with a few things. Don't worry; I won't leave without saying goodbye."

"I'm glad you're here," she said. She fidgeted with her thumbs in her lap. "I've missed you all, you know."

"We'll always be your friends, Merrill. No matter how far apart we all go." 

She thought, briefly, and with only the faintest prick of regret, of everything else she'd loved, and longed for, and lost. "I know," was all she said, fondly. 

"That mirror," he said, after a long pause. He glanced toward her bedroom, where it still sat, unused and gathering dust since she'd reactivated it. "Do you think you'll ever use it for anything?"

"Yes, I think so. I should be careful, though. I went through it once, and the place on the other side is... very strange. And there are so many other eluvians, and I don't know where they all lead. It's so powerful – the magic that created them. Sometimes it frightens me."

"Well, I trust you."

"Thank you, Hawke." 

"I should be going. I'm supposed to meet Aveline this afternoon. You know how she feels about tardiness." He stretched as he got up, making another face at the heat – but he softened when he looked at her. "You seem happy here, these days. I'm glad. It suits you."

"I suppose I am," she said, smiling. "I know I've said it before, but I don't think I'd have made a good Keeper."

"I'm not so sure," Hawke said gently. He patted her arm on his way toward the door. "I think maybe you just hadn't found the right clan, yet."

\---

A rustling and then a loud clattering sound awoke Merrill in the dead of night. It wasn't a particularly special night. Just a warm one, for early fall, and so she'd left her windows open to try and get a breeze going through her house. Thieves had occasionally tried to sneak in through the windows, during her very early years in Kirkwall. They seemed to have gotten the message after some of their clothes had been set on fire. She hadn't had any trouble since then, barring the occasional confused person wandering in after a night of drinking when she'd forgotten to lock her door.

She was rolling out of bed and onto her feet without even fully waking up. Blearily, she groped about for her staff. She was so accustomed to Hawke and his many sources of conflict that she always slept with it close at hand. When her fingers closed around it, she called upon her magic. Swirling tendrils of it gathered around her as she made her way unsteadily across her uneven floorboards, peering around the corner into the main room.

The sight that greeted her, once her eyes had adjusted to the low light enough to make any sense of it, was one of the strangest and least believable things she'd ever seen. She blinked. Once, twice. Three times. She rubbed at her eyes, then did it again. Nothing had changed. She pinched herself, just to check that she was awake, and also glanced around the room to check how _solid_ everything was.

"Lyna?" she said finally, when none of her bookshelves turned into chairs, or vice versa, or anything of the sort. Impermanence was the surest sign you were in the Fade.

"Hi, Merrill," said Lyna. _Casually_ , like she was just dropping by for a visit. Like she hadn't been gone for the better part of ten years.

"Hi, Merrill," said Tamlen, at Lyna's side.

Merrill dropped her staff. It clattered to the floor, making quite the ruckus as it fell. She hoped it wouldn't wake the neighbors, she thought idly, feeling dazed. She stared at Lyna. And Tamlen. Lyna, and _Tamlen_. They were both wearing the blue-and-silver Grey Warden armor that Carver wore now, whenever he passed through Kirkwall. Both of them. Both. 

"What are you doing here? And so late?" was the only thing she could think to say. As if the hour of the day was the thing that didn't make any sense.

"Seeing you?" said Tamlen. Casually, just like Lyna.

"You-" Merrill's voice caught. She tried again. "You touched the eluvian while it was still tainted." Her voice _cracked_ , her chest aching as she stared at him. "It would have made you sick, like Lyna. And you were lost, and- and we looked, and we couldn't find you, so you can't be here in my house-"

"Actually..." Tamlen drew his shoulders up and looked sheepish. "Lyna and that shemlen Duncan found me on their way out of the forest. I was half-dead, apparently. I don't really remember that part. But Lyna talked him into dragging me along too, and then we both became Grey Wardens. It wasn't that bad a deal. I got to live, and we did save the world. That counts for something."

Merrill rubbed at her eyes again. Everything was still, very annoyingly, solid. "You're a Grey Warden too?" she said, feeling lost.

"The less important one," Tamlen joked. "Lyna killed the archdemon, and I didn't even get to go to the party afterward. A genlock ran me through in the final battle. I was laid up in the palace for a week while everyone else got to have fun without me."

He sounded like Tamlen. He looked like Tamlen. Eventually, Merrill came forward to reach out and touch his chest. It was real. The chainmail of his Grey Warden armor was cold beneath her fingertips, but the blue fabric was soft. She laid her hand flat over it. He didn't seem to mind.

"All this time," she said quietly, "All this time, you've been alive? You've been _safe_?" Her voice broke again. "Why didn't you tell the clan? Why didn't you tell me?" Those weren't the right questions, or at least they weren't the only questions, but they were the ones she most needed answers to. She had others, too. So very many others.

"Well, first there was the Blight," said Tamlen. He looked at least slightly uncomfortable as he reached up to rub the back of his head. "We were a little busy with the darkspawn and the archdemon and everything, and then rebuilding the Wardens in Ferelden. We sent letters to the clan off on ships from Amaranthine, but we don't think the clan ever got them. The first ship was probably lost in a storm, and we heard the second got waylaid by pirates. After that, we figured we might as well come ourselves."

"Varric calls it 'Kirkwall luck'," Merrill said absently. "The way everything always gets lost, or broken, or falls apart. But why didn't you come sooner? The Blight's been over for almost ten years now."

"The Blight wasn't really over when we killed the archdemon. There were all these other darkspawn, and an ancient magister, and we were just... busy?" Tamlen said, giving her a tight, embarrassed smile. She'd missed it, so much that seeing it again hurt. "We came as soon as we could get away from it all. Which was not very soon, I admit. We actually did try to come earlier, but Kirkwall was a bit _on fire_ the last time we stopped by."

"Yes, we did that. That was us. Well, sort of. We didn't really mean to, exactly, I don't think, but it all happened so quickly."

Lyna blinked and tilted her head. "You – what?" 

"It's really a very long story. Varric tells it better than I do." Merrill frowned as she looked at them. The image of them, both of them, standing here in her house, hadn't quite settled into being real in her mind yet. The only thing she could do was keep asking questions until she ran out, or her eyes made sense of what was right in front of them. "Why are you here in Kirkwall, then? The clan left a long time ago." 

"We actually found them first. We caught up with them near Starkhaven, but you weren't there, so. Well. Here we are."

"You came all this way? Just... just for me? But-" She faltered. "But I-"

"We're sorry, Merrill." Lyna's voice was gentle, and genuine, and Merrill's eyes burned. She reached up to wipe away the wetness. Lyna caught her wrist and did it for her, her thumb brushing beneath Merrill's eyes. A few more tears spilled over at Lyna's touch.

"Are you going to be staying very long?" Merrill said. "I... I could make tea." She tried not to sound desperate. Not to sound like this was like something out of a dream she'd been having for nearly seven years now, only to wake each and every time to find herself in an empty hovel in Lowtown.

"No, we're-"

"Tea would be nice," Tamlen said, interrupting Lyna. "And you can give us a tour of your house."

"It's quite a mess, I'm afraid. I didn't know I'd be having any guests today."

"It looks pretty clean to me."

"You haven't seen the rats, yet."

"Oh." Tamlen winced. "Well, it's... cozy, at least?"

"This doesn't feel real," Merrill admitted suddenly, after a moment of awkward silence between them. "I'd be afraid it's the work of a spirit, only I haven't met any spirits, lately. Certainly none that could do anything like this. We don't get many powerful spirits in the alienage. They're all up with the nobles in Hightown, mostly." She was babbling. She couldn't stop herself.

"No, this is real," said Lyna. "At least, it was the last time I checked. You can pinch me if that would help." She held up her arm.

"I think you're supposed to pinch yourself, not someone else," Tamlen pointed out.

"Will you-" Merrill hesitated. Dread began to build in her chest, and she wasn't sure if she dared to voice the question. She wanted to ask for _more_ , but after so many years and so many disappointments, she would settle for less. "Will you come visit, sometimes, at least, or write me letters, or-"

"We're not planning on leaving you, Merrill," Lyna said. "Actually..." She glanced at Tamlen. "We heard something, from the clan, about a mirror?"

Merrill nearly missed every other word Lyna spoke, she was too fixated on the first bit – _not planning on leaving you_. It still didn't seem real. It probably wasn't. She wasn't sure she cared, anymore.

"Merrill?" Tamlen was saying. "The mirror?"

"Oh! Oh, right. This way," she said. She took their hands – both of them – and tugged them through to her bedroom, where the eluvian stood so inconspicuously in its corner. They came to a stop in front of it. For a moment, it seemed like nothing more than a simple mirror, reflecting their images back to them on its smooth surface. The illusion was shattered when she reached out to touch the edge of it. The surface flared into light, shimmering and undulating in a thousand colors she couldn't even begin to name.

"You did this?" Lyna's voice was filled with wonder.

"A spirit helped some, but yes, I did it. It was a lot of work, though, and..." Merrill lowered her head, looking away from them. "And the Keeper didn't agree with me very much, I'm afraid, and she... when she tried to stop me, she..." She couldn't keep going, after that. She'd come to terms with it, in a way, in the years since it had happened. But telling _Lyna_ about it, seeing the judgment she knew would be in her eyes – she couldn't do it. Marethari had been so fond of Lyna.

"We know," Lyna said gently. She reached out to clasp Merrill's shoulder. "The clan told us."

It took the words a moment to sink in. 

"You... you _know_? But you're- shouldn't you be-" Merrill swallowed, overcome with emotion. Finally, she managed to glance up at Lyna, frowning. "You're not angry with me? You don't think it's my fault, like they all said, or..."

"We've all done things we... might end up regretting," Lyna said. She hesitated and glanced at Tamlen, her brow slightly furrowed. "We've all had to make hard choices, and wished there was some other way. But that's a story for another time. We're looking for a cure for the Blight. We found a book that gave us a clue, but it wasn't very much to go on. Then when we heard about you, from the clan..."

"Is that why you came here, then?" asked Merrill. "To find out how I cleansed an eluvian?"

"Not the only reason, no." Lyna brushed her thumb against Merrill's arm where she was still gripping it. "Not even the most important reason."

"Nice to kill two birds with one arrow, though," said Tamlen.

Merrill's frown deepened. "It's a mirror, though, not a bird."

"You're not a bird either," he said. He nudged her. She smiled, though it was faltering and unsure.

Lyna was examining the eluvian more closely, peering into the depths of it. She reached up and touched it - hesitantly, as if she was afraid it might hurt. "How _did_ you cleanse the taint from it?"

"I used blood magic," Merrill admitted. She looked down at her hands, crisscrossed with scars from her years of hard work. For the first time in a very long time, she was self-conscious about them and wished she could hide them away.

"Ah," was Lyna's only reply. Her hand was still resting on Merrill's shoulder. She hadn't recoiled. She didn't seem disgusted, or frightened, or angry. She didn't even really seem surprised. "Well, that makes sense."

"You don't mind? Not at all?"

Tamlen snorted. Lyna gave him a look.

"What?" he said. "I remember when you drank that bottle of-"

"It helped us fight the darkspawn," said Lyna curtly.

"What bottle? Of what?" asked Merrill, quite at a loss.

"Never mind," said Tamlen, grinning. "The thing is, we're Grey Wardens."

"What does that have to do with blood magic?"

"Wardens use whatever it takes to fight the Blight. Even blood magic. Even random bottles of foul liquid they find lying around in-"

"You're the worst best friend I've ever had," Lyna said.

"Oh, as if you had all these other best friends just lying around, ready to cover for you whenever you did anything wrong?"

"I had Merrill."

"That's not fair, comparing me to Merrill. I'll lose no matter what."

"Really?" said Merrill, blinking. "Why?"

"... You haven't changed at all, have you?" said Lyna.

"No," Merrill said, smiling sadly. She held out her scarred hand again. "No, I think I have, actually, quite a bit. But I..."

"You?" Tamlen said, eyebrows raised.

"Tamlen-" Her hand went out to his arm. When he met her eyes, she didn't know how to continue. How to say what she had longed to, all these years. Now, while she finally had the chance.

And then, she realized, she didn't have to. Speaking wasn't necessary at all to convey what she most wanted him to know. 

She leaned up on the very tips of her toes and kissed him. Clumsily, but eagerly, without hesitating, without _waiting_. She'd done far too much of that already.

She'd thought he might not reciprocate. It had been so long, and so many things had changed. But he didn't hesitate at all; he drew her into his arms and kissed her back. His lips were softer than she'd ever thought they would be. She couldn't remember how she had been able to stand yearning for this, impossibly, for so many years. How she had ever come to live with the constant, faint ache of regret in her chest without bursting from it.

Lyna came up and wrapped her arms around Merrill from behind. They stayed like that. Clinging to each other in the dark. Merrill couldn't decide if she was about to cry or laugh, so she buried her face against Tamlen's shoulder and kept her eyes shut tight.

"Well, what do you say, lethallan?" said Tamlen softly, after they'd held each other wordlessly for a while. "Will you come with us? It probably won't be fun, where we're going, but we really missed you."

"Yes," said Merrill, without any hesitation at all. "Yes, of course I'll come. But I'll need someone to look after the alienage while I'm gone. Oh, and you can meet Hawke, then."

"Hawke?" said Lyna. "That sounds familiar. Wait, do you mean – the Champion of Kirkwall?"

"He's my friend. Haven't you read Varric's book? I'm in it quite a lot, actually. There's a whole chapter about me in the middle."

"We haven't exactly had time for a lot of reading," said Tamlen. "It's mostly been killing darkspawn, with some occasional breaks in between for killing humans and undead and deepstalkers and demons and dragons and, well. You get the picture."

"That sounds very exciting," said Merrill. She nuzzled her cheek closer against Tamlen's shoulder, her nose pressing in against his Warden armor. "We've mostly been fighting bandits lately. It might be nice to see a dragon or two, just for something different."

"You _want_ to fight dragons?" Tamlen said incredulously. "Because I can promise you, it isn't as fun as it sounds. They stink, for one thing, and they really do breathe fire."

"No, not really. The last time we fought a dragon, it burned off the ends of my hair, and I stepped in dragon dung on the way home. It wasn't a very pleasant experience at all."

Tamlen chuckled. "It sounds like you have a lot to tell us, too."

"Yes, maybe I do." 

"Well, we'll have plenty of time," said Lyna. At those words, Merrill's heart seemed to come singing into wakefulness, like the sun had abruptly decided to rise in her chest rather than the sky.

\---

They spent the rest of the night in Merrill's rickety, too-narrow bed. She'd offered to take the floor, but Lyna had had none of it, and then Tamlen had silenced any argument by looping his arm around her and practically dragging her down alongside them. She was lying there now, wedged awkwardly in between them, feeling the rise and fall of their chests.

There was nowhere else she would rather be.

They lay quietly in the dark for a long time before Lyna broke the silence. "Merrill, are you angry at us? For not coming sooner?" she asked, very softly.

"No," Merrill said. She was staring up at her ceiling, her eyes distant. She'd spent so much time regretting the past. Always trying to undo what had happened, no matter how else she'd justified it to herself. She hadn't thought to try living for the future until it had almost been too late. "... No, I'm not. I promise."

Lyna found her hand and gripped it.

It was enough. It was so much more than she'd ever thought she could have.

\---

"Sometimes, I swear, all we do is walk," Tamlen complained. "I used to think the clan did a lot of walking, but that was nothing compared to the Grey Wardens. We crossed Ferelden and back a hundred times during the Blight. And what are we doing now? Still walking."

"That's an exaggeration," Lyna said to Merrill. "It was more like twenty times, at best."

"All I know is, I'm going to be really glad someday when we've figured out this whole taint business, and we can just kick back and live in a nice house somewhere," said Tamlen.

"Nicer than my house, I hope," Merrill said, "And bigger, too, if there are going to be three of us. My bed was awfully small last night. And not very comfortable, either. I've been meaning to get a new mattress for years, now."

"I didn't mind," Lyna said. She took Merrill's hand; Merrill relinquished it to her eagerly.

"Lyna and I have slept in far less comfortable places than your house, Merrill. Remember Blackmarsh?" said Tamlen.

"Don't remind me," Lyna groaned.

"Or the Deep Roads? I hate sleeping in the Deep Roads, and feeling like the whole world is pressing down on you. It's not natural at all..."

As Tamlen kept talking, Merrill glanced over her shoulder at the city walls behind them. A blanket of early morning fog had set in over Kirkwall and the surrounding area, shrouding everything in white. Merrill breathed in until her lungs were full. Slowly, she exhaled as she turned back to face the road. Ahead lay a long journey, and the loamy scent of the forest, and the wind on her face, and nights spent under the stars. Merrill _longed_ for it, though she had tried very hard not to remember over the years – the feeling of soil between her toes, the crackling of an open campfire, the sounds of animals moving about in the dark beyond the camp at night. The alienage was her home, but it had never felt quite right, sleeping beneath a roof and surrounded by walls.

Lyna had threaded her fingers through Merrill's. Tamlen had already gone ahead on the path, climbing to the crest of a hill that overlooked the Wounded Coast. Lyna tugged Merrill gently along after him, glancing back to make sure she was following. When their eyes met, Merrill smiled, tentative as a budding new spring leaf.


End file.
